


A Scallywag's Checklist for a Rousing Seduction

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Banter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: An honest and hard-working tavern owner's impeccable work ethic is put to the test.





	A Scallywag's Checklist for a Rousing Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt list on tumblr: "the way you said 'I love you', slowly, the words dripping from your tongue like honey."
> 
> Nothing but smut here. And lewd, married banter.

He never half-assed foreplay. Which wasn’t to say she was always guaranteed a sweeping seduction. For all his efforts, sometimes it was all she could do not to laugh herself into a coma.

“What?” Shanks asked, mid-strip with his unbuttoned shirt hanging off his elbow. The filthy grin he’d put on ruined his attempt at a convincingly offended expression. “Is this not doing it for you?”

Observing him through the slits of her fingers, trying and failing to stifle her laughter, Makino cleared her throat. “It’s doing…something.”

His shirt smacking her in the face had her spluttering, tossed from across the cabin, and by the time she’d pulled it off he was loosening the red sash around his hips, with an exaggerated emphasis that could only be described as petulantly combative.

She watched as he flicked it like a whip, gaze still holding hers, and tucking her lips together to kill her grin, sighed, “I really hope you’re not about to do a scarf dance.”

A single brow quirked, his teasing offence just a few degrees short of convincing this time, and with that look on his face she wouldn’t have put it past him to do it, and for no other reason than because he could. Or to make her laugh. He was good at that.

“If I was, you wouldn’t be wearing that suffering expression for long,” Shanks said. As though to punctuate his point, he snapped the sash towards her, but tugged it back before she could make a grab for it. “I can dance, you know. I’m elegant as a stag. In heat.”

“I think we’ve got very different ideas of what stags do in heat,” Makino said. “What springs to my mind is uncoordinated cavorting.”

“Otherwise known as interpretive dance,” Shanks retorted. “Keep up, Makino. Seriously.” Shifting his weight to one hip, he swung the sash like a lasso. “Sure you don’t want a private performance? I’ll get a few of your kerchiefs and really make a number of it.”

She grinned, a little too goofily to pretend at nonchalance. Not that she was really trying for it. How could she, when he was looking at her like that? “I feel like I need at least three drinks in my stomach to witness that. Possibly four, if you’re including multiple scarves. How would you even hold them?”

“With my teeth. And you’re no fun,” Shanks said, wiggling his hips. His pants had slid down a bit, drawing her eyes to the dark trail of hairs below his navel, climbing up his ridiculous, washboard stomach.

Forcing her eyes back up, only to find him grinning, “I’m not. I’m supposed to be at work,” Makino reminded him. “You promised me a quickie. This stopped being a  _quickie_  ten minutes ago when you started to unbutton your shirt, which was already on its way off, the way you dress.” At his perfectly innocent look, she gestured at him. “And you’re still wearing pants!”

She eyed the sash where he was idly swinging it from side to side. The way he was watching her left little question of what he was considering, and little breath in her lungs, imagining it, but then she had a well-established thing for light bondage and he never passed up the chance to remind her. Which made his cheerful ease all the more frustrating. Barring the happy bulge in his pants, he could at least look a little affected, even if she hadn’t been the one taking off her clothes.

“You’re usually so efficient in stripping down,” Makino said then. “I once saw you go from fully clothed to stark naked in less than two movements. I barely had time to blink before you’d shucked your shorts and pounced.”

“Hey,” Shanks chided, pointing at her. “Stripping is an art form. You’re not supposed to rush art. And you’re not demonstrating the appreciation I’d expect from someone who’s got a library of bodice rippers. Those things dedicate whole chapters to removing clothes, most of it tight around the crotch and ass, and I’m very generously ticking both of those boxes, but if you were the one writing, this whole seance would be concluded in a single paragraph.” With a mournful sigh, he recited, “‘And thus, he dropped his pants. His cock was a sight to behold. The end.’” He raised his brows. “My particular endowments warrant at leasta page. Something like: ‘His beautiful member was like the sun to her starved eyes. Seeing it, she felt like she’d been blind all her life, until this moment, watching it rise between his powerful thighs.’ Hah! That even rhymed! It’s straight up poetry. Anything less wouldn’t do me justice, but alas, you couldn’t even be bothered to take the time to savour the sight. And I know you’re always eager to see me take off my pants, but this is just making me feel unappreciated, Makino. Me and my beautiful cock.”

“First of all, what kind of books have you been  _reading_? And secondly, I’m not writing about your— _endowments_ ,” Makino said, and ignored his grin when she couldn’t help the blush, “beautiful as they may be, I’m not denying that, but I have a bar to run, Shanks. I told them we’d be back in ten minutes. It’s been at least twenty, and all you’ve done is remove your shirt. And  _that_ ,” she added, gesturing to the sash.

Shanks swung it once, lazily. “They can help themselves, believe me. If there’s one thing my crew doesn’t need assistance with, it’s drinking. It’s like that saying—you can lead a pirate to a storeroom full of booze, and he’ll probably drink it.”

“That’s not how that saying goes,” Makino said. “It’s about water. And I’m pretty sure it’s got a horse in it.”

Smiling, Shanks just watched her, still swinging the sash. Makino followed the length of it, spilling from his fingers, intertwined with the fabric where he’d wrapped it around his wrist.

She watched as they flexed, the tendons in his hand shifting with the movements. Imagining them on her always did the trick whenever he was gone and she was alone, but it was inching close to unbearable now, having him two feet from her and not even making a move to touch her.

She curled her toes, the mattress of his bunk dipping as she shifted in her seat. Anchored in the harbour, the ship was still, the gentle rocking of the water making the planks creak like a cat’s purr, and the dry warmth of his quarters was a longed-for comfort. It seemed to exist between worlds, somehow, not quite on land and not quite at sea, but straddling the divide. A neutral ground, somewhere that was neither his or hers; the closest to  _theirs_  she got, while she still had to give him back to the sea whenever he set sail.

She liked it here, the privacy of his cabin with just the two of them, safe in the quiet cradle of her little port. The bedding that smelled like him, and the tender mess he always left, shirts and sandals and discarded maps curling at the edges, the paperweights elsewhere, misplaced and forgotten. His cabin was early mornings before the sun roused the world, when he slept in her arms, and late evenings in the old armchair, curled in his lap, a tumbler of whiskey spilling over her fingers, shaken by their laughter. It was logbooks stuffed in odd places, uprooted before he could even ask her if she’d seen them, and a quill-tipped pen tucked behind his ear while he worked, forgotten and removed with a kiss to his temple. And she liked watching him move about, like he could do it in his sleep, as though he knew every creaking plank, and every breath of distance between the bulkheads, and between the sparse furnishings within.

But mostly she liked watching him, cheerfully comfortable with sharing his space with her, and of sharing himself, half-naked and taking his sweet time showing her, everything she knew by heart and everything she’d missed while he’d been gone. There wasn’t a scar or bruise that slipped her notice, bared like he wanted her to see; the stories he didn’t always tell her with words.

Her eyes lingered on his abdomen, the hard muscle that twitched with his laughter, and the happy trail of hair that slipped like an invitation under the waistline of his pants, hanging sinfully low on his hips now.

“Oh?” Shanks asked, catching her staring. “Doing more than just ‘something’ now. Expanding on that paragraph, are we?” He grinned, and recited, his voice pitched a little lower this time, “‘His chiseled chest invoked a sculptor’s hands. His perfectly rounded ass was so exquisite, it could have been shaped by an angel’s caress. It was, quite possibly, the finest ass she’d ever seen.’”

The sigh that eased out of her was a tender sound. “These are the moments where I’m reminded why I fell in love with you.”

“I love that I can’t tell if you’re happy or exasperated?”

“With you, it’s usually an even fifty-fifty.”

“Yeah? I’ll make it sixty-forty by the time I’m done with you,” Shanks said. “I’ll even wager you an eighty-twenty. After all, I know what you like. And I’m not just talking about my ass, criminal offence that it is. I’d tell the navy to slap a bounty on it, but I doubt faxing them another photo would go over well. The last time I did that, I never heard back. Buggy told me not to do it, but it was too funny to pass up. Also, I might have been a little drunk.” He grinned, his mouth shaped with a lewd, lovely curve. “I’d rather have you do the slapping, though. If there’s slapping to be had.”

She huffed, her cheeks warming, but her laughter fluttered, light in her chest. “I would, if you’d come over here so I could actually touch you!”

“Are you ordering me on  _my_  ship?”

“Well I don’t see you calling the shots,  _Captain_.”

His brows lifted, and oh,  _that_ was a dangerous look. She felt the shiver it stirred, dancing up from the root of her spine.

“Mutinous thing,” Shanks muttered. Then, his eyes hooding with a look that plunged right through her stomach to settle between her legs, “On your knees.”

Her breath sitting a little heavier in her chest, Makino eased towards the edge of the mattress. Her skirt had caught around her hips, the buttons of her blouse loosened from his earlier attentions, one sleeve slipping off her shoulder. He’d stolen one of her stockings, and she toed the planks, rough under her bare foot.

Shanks watched her, still with that hooded look. “‘Her eyes were so dark they made the ocean jealous’,” he said, although without the exaggerated narration this time. “’Her body was like a newly carved sloop, delicate curves begging an experienced sailor’s touch, fairly  _aching_  to be captained.’”

“ _Stop_ ,” she laughed, her startled grin shattering her composure. “I’m trying to be serious!”

He didn’t even flinch, gaze still holding hers. “I’m dead serious.”

Her smile stuttered, before it softened, and she rose from the bunk. “Captain me, then.”

The dirty slant of his grin came to settle deep within her. “My order still stands,” he said, with that firm weight of command that left her legs weak and trembling. “On your knees.”

Stepping away from the bunk, Makino covered the space between them, reaching for the sash where he still held it, slipping it from his fingers before tossing it to the side.

Kneeling down, she hooked her fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, tugging them down his hips, freeing his cock before she let the fabric drop, allowing him to step out of it. She hadn’t taken her eyes off his, watching him through her lashes where he loomed above her, fully bared.

“Good girl,” Shanks murmured, but his laughter this time sounded winded, like he was catching his breath. Watching her, he shook his head. “You know, I’ve forgotten where I was going with this.”

Hands skimming up his thighs, her smile pursed. “I’ll remind you.”

Her knees dug into the planks, her skirt trapped beneath her where she sat before him, the scent of his desire as unapologetic as his erection, rock hard when she brushed her fingertips along the length of it, and she heard how his breath rushed out in a sharp gust, his fingers grazing her shoulder where her blouse had slipped down, before threading through her loose hair.

Shanks said nothing, and watching her like that, Makino faltered, suddenly, awkwardly aware of what she was doing; that she didn’t possess his ease at performing, even in private; that her earnestness didn’t let her be effortlessly  _coy_ , especially if she began to analyse her own actions. And he had a way of looking at her that made her feel like he wouldn’t have missed a hitch in her breath, like he could see everything, down to her innermost thoughts.

Without realising, she’d shifted her grip on his hips, moving her hands around and behind him, and, “Going straight for the ass, huh?” Shanks asked, his chuckle warm and tender. “I knew it.”

Her own laugh blurted out, nowhere near as sensual, but just like that, she stopped thinking—was too busy laughing to analyse herself too closely, the comment making her forget about herself, remembering instead who she was with, and that there was no need for pretence; that there never had been, with him. And with anyone else, a comment like that might have ruined the mood, but laughter had always been par for the course with him, and emboldened by the sound of it, she reached for him, gratified when she heard it catching on a groan as she took him in her mouth, staggering the sound as the hand in her hair closed to a fist.

She curled her fingers around the base of his cock, before moving them up the length of it, giving a slow pump of her hand as she slid him out of her mouth, then back in, pausing to stroke her tongue lightly across the slit at his head, and the hand in her hair jerked it so sharply it nearly pulled her off him, the sound that left him almost guttural, jolting through her, straight to her core and raising the hairs on her arms.

Lips wrapped around him, she heard how his breathing changed, a harsh pant, and she felt the tense clench of the muscles in his thigh, his hips flexing, pushing closer as she took him deeper, her tongue slipping around him, his moan breathless, pleading in a way that was intensely satisfying as he bucked against her mouth.

She contemplated finishing him off, when he suddenly urged her to release him, pulling her back to her feet, and she’d barely wiped her mouth before he’d covered it with his own, a more blatant testimony of impatience than she could ever have been called, but she forgot to tell him when he kissed her so thoroughly she thought her knees would give out, his tongue sliding past hers and his hand gripping the hair at her nape, tilting her head roughly to meet him.

He didn’t take as long with her clothes as he’d done with his own, buttons loosened and zippers unzipped before she could register her skirt slipping from her waist, his hand against her bare skin stealing her attention, large and warm where it cupped her hip, the soft mound of her breast and her ass, the last followed by him hoisting her up, before two long strides saw him putting her back on his bunk, so roughly it startled a small squeak into the air.

“Still eager to get back to work?” he murmured, pushing her back against the mattress. Her blouse still hung off her elbows, the buttoned cuffs too tight to slide over her wrists, and her lone stocking was still in place, but when he took one of her breasts into his mouth she forgot if she’d meant to answer, or tell him to at least undress her fully while he was at it, her nipples pert and aching as she arched beneath him.

She felt his grin, as he sucked at her breast, before nipping it gently. “I could recite your list of chores for you, if it’ll make you feel better about playing hooky.”

Her laugh relaxed her, even as anticipation strung her limbs tight, feeling his weight above her, and the hard frame of his body. “Are you trying to kill the mood, or do you want to see if you can still get me off doing it?”

She saw his grin now where he looked down at her, his hair falling into his brow, covering his scars. Reaching up, she brushed it out of his face, smiling when he kissed her fingers. “Is it wrong that I kinda want to try the second one?”

Makino huffed, fingertips pressed to his lips to suffocate his cheeky smile. “I’m organised, but I’m not a freak, Shanks.”

His eyes glittered in the shifting sunlight, sent dancing along the bulkheads by the water beyond the porthole. “You keep four separate lists for your day-to-day doings,” he told her, his voice muffled behind her hand. “Five, counting the one you have to keep track of all your lists. I keep sneaking in ‘Do Shanks’ between dishes and inventory, but you never notice.”

“I’ve noticed,” she laughed, drawing her hand back to touch his cheek. He looked beautiful like this, his hair mussed and his eyes on her. “And I always save the fun chores for last.”

He stared down at her. “I’m not sure if I should be pleased that you at least think it’s fun, or offended that you just called sex with me a _chore_.”

She stuck her tongue out, a challenge offered back with the demure flash of her smile. “You’re the one who put it on the list.”

He gaped, before laughter turned it into an open-mouthed grin. “Yeah okay, that one’s on me.” He shook his head. “Cheeky girl. You and your lists. You’re always  _working._ You run a tighter ship than I do, and you don’t even have a ship. Seriously, the work you do in a single day is more than I do in a month, and that’s if I’m making an effort to be administrative, which doesn’t happen unless we’re running low on booze. You’re an inspiration, although hopefully not for my guys to mutiny my fine, angel-caressed ass.”

He made a contemplative sound, considering her where she lay beneath him. “Although saying that, you’d clean up my crew like nobody’s business. I could just kick back and relax, and wait for you, naked and ready on your bunk when you were done conquering the sea.” He sighed, the sound curiously wistful.

“Getting a little off track?” Makino laughed, and found his expression brightening, delightfully boyish.

“Where was I?  _Oh_ , right. You know what you need? A list for yourself.”

“For myself?”

His smile brimmed, sensual and mischievous with the beginnings of a plan. It was a look she was intimately familiar with.

Ducking his head to kiss her neck, “First on the agenda—endure your shameless scoundrel of a husband’s frisky attentions,” Shanks murmured. Then, a tender bite at her earlobe, his voice dropping an octave, “Point number two. Be subsequently seduced by said scoundrel’s ripped-as- _fuck_  body. Clothing: optional but discouraged.”

Makino smiled, eyes lifted to the ceiling of the cabin. “Mine or yours?”

She felt his grin under her ear, making her shiver. “Both.”

She hummed, turning pliant under his mouth, and tilted her head back to let him kiss the column of her neck. He paused at the junction of her collar, sucking the soft skin there. “Three,” Shanks murmured, the tug of his lips prompting a small whine as she bared her throat. “Let the scoundrel eat you out until you come.”

Her shiver turned her words to a gasp, “This list makes it sound like you’re the one who’ll be doing all the work.”

“That’s part of the point.  _You’re_ supposed to relax and not think about work for two minutes. It’s all I’m asking. Although I’ll make sure it’s longer than that—this scoundrel knows what he’s doing. Which brings me to the last point on your list.” His voice pitched lower, a deep, murmuring rhythm; she felt the tip of him pressing against her entrance through her underwear, trickling a moan from her tongue as he spoke the words into her ear, “Four. Be thoroughly, earth-shatteringly  _fucked_.”

Blinking her eyes open, Makino pressed her hands to his shoulders, a not-too-subtle suggestion for him to go down. “Go on then,” she breathed. “Get to work.”

Nosing her jaw, his laughter rumbled through her, but, “Not work,” Shanks corrected. “Not with you.”

A kiss to her brow then; it remained there a beat, a tender imprint, before he drew back to kiss her mouth deeply, like he could drink her, and when she tilted her head against the pillow she offered him to do so, until she was sinking into the kiss, into the bunk and the planks and the bellows of the ship, the sea beneath, so far she never wanted to resurface.

She felt him shifting, his body heavy above her and his hand palming her hip as he bent down to mouth a kiss to her stomach, tugging at the thin hem of her panties with his teeth, before ducking his head between her thighs.

“ _Oh_ ,” came the delighted chuckle, the warm huff of his breath against the soaked fabric choking a small cry from her, as she parted her legs further. She felt as he slipped his fingers under the hem, dipping them inwards to seek the source of her wetness, the featherlight caress leaving his fingers slippery and seizing her breath as she responded with a broken whimper.

Sliding her panties down her legs, he nudged them apart, easing his fingers beneath her to tilt her hips as he kissed her stomach, just above where her hair curled.

“God, I miss having two hands for this,” Shanks said then, and the shuddering pant of her breath blurted out with a laugh before it cut off as he flicked the tip of his tongue lightly to her clit, a pleased chuckle leaving him when she jerked in response.

His next touch was softer, the careful sweep of his tongue gentle to the point where an impatient sound sprang forth, a shivering sob as her hands groped at the mattress, restless and white-knuckled as her muscles coiled tight under her skin. “Sh— _ah_ —!”

“Good?” came the murmur, the syllable seeming to stretch languidly, following the curve of his mouth, wicked where he’d buried it between her thighs. Makino felt as he nuzzled the soft skin there, the damp curls; felt the press of his lips over the seam of her sex, rough fingers parting her folds before he licked her again, not drinking from her now but lapping at her, quicker and quicker, his tongue teasing her, plump and dripping under the light, fleeting touches and rendering her taut and boneless all at once, hot and shivering, and the answer was expected—he hadn’t been bragging; he knew what she liked, how she liked him—but he still asked.

“Hey?” he asked then, the query little more than a breath. Makino heard him say something else, his voice muffled, but she felt the vibration against her, catching her breath like it had snagged in her throat, and the inarticulate noise she made meant to ask him to repeat it, but the whimper that overtook it seemed to just say  _again, again._

Laughter, delighted. “ _I love you_.”

She heard it this time. He said it again as he kissed her slowly, the words dripping from his tongue to her sex, honeyed with shameless adoration and that slow, deliberate enunciation that curled from her toes, up her spine to the roots of her hair. And her impatience surrendered without a fight, because she wanted it slow, the loving her; wanted them savoured, the little things he left in her hollows, his shudders and his breaths and the rumble of his voice. The things she missed when he was gone, that she kept inside her, submerged in the vast, quiet sea where her heart had been before he’d stolen it. It filled her chest, her stomach, all her veins and the space between her bones.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, a demand that wanted forever and didn’t care. Arching her hips, she relished in the slow coaxing of his mouth as he ate her out, the scratch of his beard and the tuck of his nose against her curls, his hair slipping between her fingers, crooked loose and shaking around the back of his neck as she willed him closer still. “I’m—”

Her voice broke off, carried up her throat with a soft cry, before another chased it, the sound coursing through her, a loud song of pleasure as he finished her with his tongue, until she came, taut and quaking against his mouth.

She was still under the spell when Shanks pushed himself up—Makino had enough mind left to reach for him, fingers shaking from the surge of her climax as she took him, large and hard where he fit into her palm before she helped guide him towards her—and then it was him filling her, the sensation pushing a sigh from her chest, relieved like gasping for breath from a drowning, and when she fell back against the mattress she felt him following, the thrust of his hips jarring a groan loose of him, before he slid himself out, then in again, the whole of her conquered (yielded? she never knew which, when he claimed and worshipped in the same breath).

But she could _take_  too, legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her like she never meant to release him, her hands slipping from his shoulders down the slope of his spine, tracing the ridge between the hard muscle shifting under his skin, seeking the scars she knew with her fingertips. Another thrust, the whole length of him inside her as he emptied himself with a shudder, and she dug her fingers in, clawing up his back to grip his hair as she arched against the bunk with a cry.

Coming down, he breathed his laughter into the crevasse between her ribs, kissing her sternum, her small breasts where they heaved, her breath elusive and her heart racing, like a wild bird trapped behind her ribs. “Point number four?”

Her laugh was tired, throaty where it curled from her chest, to invite him closer. “Checked,” Makino breathed, humming over the word. “Throughly.”

“I am good at checking,” Shanks said, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll check your list whenever you need it. We can check some more in a minute, if you’ll let me catch my breath.”

“ _Okay_ ,” she laughed, sated and lethargic. “I get it.” She exhaled as he pulled out, easing off her before falling against the mattress with a groan, drawing her to him. She felt like she could fall asleep, the words murmured into his skin, “I regret being the inspiration for yet another terrible, career-related euphemism.”

She felt his laughter under her ear, that rough, lovely drawl it always got after sex. “But this is my favourite one yet!”

She buried her nose in his chest, surrendering to the slow massaging of his fingers along her scalp, carding through her hair. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body like an anchor. She had the vague inclination that she should be doing something, but it was an effort remembering what, or mustering the will to want to do anything but fall asleep against him.

A lull washed over them, a tide lapping at them where they lay, limbs entwined and the sheets trapped between them, caught in the crooks and creases of their bodies, collapsed on the bunk that knew their combined weight and that welcomed it, the mattress sinking like a sigh beneath them when he shifted to pull her closer. The ship was quiet, but the sound of his heart overtook it, loud as a drumbeat through her body, his arm wrapped around her and his nose buried in her neck, pressed into the soft skin just beneath her ear. He smelled of the sea and himself and of her, like there was nothing separating the three, and Makino breathed it in, sank into the embrace until she felt submerged in him.

Then, quietly, “I don’t think they bought my excuse of going with you to get booze from the ship,” she mumbled.

Shanks laughed, without sound but loud in his whole being as he hugged her close, kissing the top of her head with a sigh.

“Oh you are  _adorable_.”

 


End file.
